


The Promises We Made

by shark_snark



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimitri is mentioned, GD Paired Ending Spoiler, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, hints at thoughts of suicide, some spoilers for their supports and GD Route regarding Dimitri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shark_snark/pseuds/shark_snark
Summary: This is set right after their Paired Ending in anything but the Blue Lions Route! Contains spoilers for that!When Sylvain finds a sword at his doorstep that looks like it belonged to Felix, he loses it a bit. All he wants is to reunite with Felix one last time, and reunite they do.





	The Promises We Made

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to believe Felix died like that. I just won't have it.  
I have only played the Golden Deer Route in full, so their characterization might be a bit off. We'll attribute it to their age lol 
> 
> You've been warned for possible spoilers

**Paired Ending**:  
Even after the war‘s end, skirmishes continued to break out across Fódlan. Learning that there were still places where he could fight, Felix abandoned his noble title and chose to make a living with his sword. Decades later, he reunited briefly with Sylvain, who had need of his services as Margrave Gautier. Felix departed as soon as the job was finished, however, and the two never met again. Years later, a sword that was thought to have belonged to Felix arrived on Sylvain’s doorstep.

***

When Sylvain wakes up one morning, decades after the war, long after he became Margrave Gautier, and finds a blade at his doorstep, his stomach drops. He recognizes it instantly, the intricate pattern around the edge of the polished, yet battle-worn blade — this is Felix’s sword. Or rather it was his sword. That he found it here, abandoned right in front of him, can only mean two things:

One, Felix has given up on being a sell-sword. But that was unlikely. Sylvain still remembers the Felix from a few years ago, when he had hired him for a brief while, and how much he had reminded him of Dimitri in his last moments. Feral, like a beast, hair unruly and clothes unkempt, with emotions in his eyes that surpassed mortal rage and agony. There is no way that this Felix, the Felix with so much guilt about Dimitri’s demise and the kingdom’s end, the Felix who only found a purpose, comfort even, in swinging his blade for hire, would give up his sword, abandon the last bit of stability he has.

No, the only option what this could mean is the second one, an option Sylvain doesn’t want to consider. He’s dead. And someone thought his last remains are better kept by Sylvain, his once closest and perhaps only remaining friend. Sylvain feels his insides lurch as if he is about to heave, but it doesn’t quite come out. He’s glad of it, keeps that bit of shaky composure up and starts a search for his lost friend, for anyone who has seen him last or heard of where he was headed before. His servants help, mercenaries are hired, and even some of his friends join as Sylvain rushes through nearby villages, towns, forests even, just for a tiny sign that would lead him towards Felix.

Hours pass and there is no such sign at all, neither of Felix nor of the one who left the blade at his door. He hates the looks he’s getting, the sympathetic squeezes to his shoulder, the apologetic smiles and whispers that Felix has found his peace now and that he should make his peace with it as well. All these words mean nothing to him and only make him grow more angry. Felix’s death is not something he can feel at peace with, not in circumstances like this, not when he feels like he could have saved him, prevented this from happening if only he had seen it coming. And maybe he has, for a while already, which only makes him feel worse. Felix must have felt similarly for Dimitri, must have hated all those who called his brother Glenn’s death noble just like how Sylvain hates every feeble attempt to cheer him up. About his best friend’s death.

If he only had done more, for all of them. Sylvain has never once regretted following Byleth in their cause, has never once regretted leaving his former King’s side, though Dimitri’s demise was more than just unfortunate. Now that the same fate has befallen Felix, Sylvain thinks he truly understands him. And he regrets. He regrets having wasted his youth with carelessness instead of training. He regrets not having trained enough to become Felix’s one and only rival, a friend he’d come to spar with every day, a pillar in a world he thought he had no purpose in.

When he goes to bed, long after everyone has already stopped their search, his thoughts are still filled with Felix, and he doesn’t close his eyes all night. He knows that it is unlikely they’ll ever find his body, a trace of what really happened to him, but he can’t help the wishes that form inside him: to say goodbye one final time and keep the promise they had made as kids.

***

Pain pulses through Sylvain’s head and travels through his body, right into his limbs and core, as he awakes from his drowsy state in bed and sits up, the sword still next to him. He takes it, turns it around in his hands, looks at either side of the well-kept blade and imagines how well it must have served Felix. Until now. He sighs, puts the sword down again and runs a hand through his red hair. There is only one thing left he can do.

And so he travels up to where House Fraldarius used to be located, alone this time, without his servants and guards, without the mercenaries he’s hired, without his friends to help him in his search for Felix. The road is familiar to him, evokes feelings of nostalgia from his childhood, since he’s often traveled up and down this specific road. Most of the time it was in carriages, with his mother and father, who visited their long-time friends of House Fraldarius on the regular. Of course that circumstance had Sylvain meet Felix when they were very young still, and he fondly remembers how quickly they had become friends. A smile tugs on his lips as he thinks about the many times Felix had ranted to him about his fights with Dimitri, how much he’d cried when he was still a young and tiny boy and how cute his smile and face used to be. He still remembers the first time they held hands when Felix had been upset about something Sylvain can’t quite recall.

“I’ll protect you, always!” he had grinned back then, sealing the first promise between them.

The memory makes him stop in his tracks and he realizes that he’s almost reached his destination. He squats down at the side of the deserted road and gathers himself, tries at least, when more memories flood his thoughts. Right here at this spot, Felix had often waited for their arrival and seen them off when they left, always with a smile on his innocent face. And then, once they got older, he’d changed. Not that Sylvain had ever blamed him, not after what had happened to his brother, but the snarkier and colder Felix grew, the less they hugged and the more apart they drifted — not just physically. For a while Sylvain was left hanging there, wondering if Felix truly tried to push him away, if he had thrown their friendship all away. Of course he hadn’t and despite his mean and cold demeanor still cared greatly about Sylvain, as an incident during their time at Garreg Mach had shown. In a battle where Felix was left open for attack, Sylvain had thrown himself in between him and an enemy, getting scratched up and injured in the process. Nothing too bad, really, but with a bit of overreacting and pretending to be much more hurt, he’d drawn out Felix’s worries about him. The whole incident made them remember another promise they had made when they were younger: to die together, with each other, not to leave the other all alone. It was also the day they started growing closer once again.

Sylvain’s eyes burn and his head aches; he wishes he could have done more, would have held him back from leaving his side again all those years ago. But the war had tugged at them, driven them apart and suffocated their love that had only started to bloom then. He remembers how flushed Felix’s face was and how much his own hands had shaken when they first kissed, hidden in his room at the monastry, away from their classmates’ stares, away from their responsibilities at Dimitri’s side, away from the cold and ugly war. But it still caught up to them.

He sighs and pushes himself up again. No matter how many times he relives these memories, he can’t connect Felix and himself in this world for one final time. But perhaps he can make up for his failure as a friend, earn some forgiveness if he fulfills their promise and connects them in spirit at last, when he reaches the old place of the Fraldarius family.

With this goal in mind and Felix’s sword held tightly at his side, he moves ahead. Except he doesn’t take more than two steps, because there is a figure standing on the road, waiting with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Sylvain’s eyes widen in surprise, his grip around the sword loosens and he fumbles with it for a few seconds, keeping it from dropping to the ground with a thud. Instead he clenches his fist around it harder and gulps down the lump that’s forming in his throat.

“Felix”, he manages to breathe out, his voice raw and his eyes burning at the corners. He doesn’t blink or take them off the man in front of him for a single moment, though.

Felix uncrosses his arms and puts one hand on his hip, shifting his weight slightly as he gazes up at Sylvain. “Took you long enough to find me.”

It’s a familiar sight to Sylvain, the way he almost scowls at him as if he missed practice once again, as if he is slacking off too much like he used to when they were teens and Felix lectured him all the time about it, though he knew his efforts were fruitless. Once again a wave of nostalgia rushes over him and even though it makes more tears prickle in his eyes, the feeling is a bit kinder, happier. Still, he doesn’t know what to say as he feels his heart sink into the darkest pits of his stomach, only to spring back up to life and thum away in a hectic rhythm. He doesn’t stop his tears from falling out when he finally whispers, “I thought you died.”

“And break the promise we’d made?” asks Felix and lets out an offended tsks, but his expression grows softer just a second later and the smallest of smiles plays on his lips; a smile that warms Sylvain’s insides to the core. “I’d never dare, you idiot.”

He can’t hold it in any longer. With a loud clutter Felix’s sword and his own lance fall to the ground, his clothes rustle with every hurried step he’s taking forward, and his arms grapple for balance around Felix’s neck once he reaches him. The hug is reciprocated instantly, and Felix pulls him closer by his hips, though his eyebrows are furrowed and his gaze averted to hide the blush dusting his cheeks. Sylvain’s forehead crashes down on top of his, and he sobs once, twice, disregarding how uncharacteristic that is of him.

“Why the sword though?” he asks between his ugly cries. “I thought you— I was so—”

The soft caresses of Felix’s calloused fingers tickle on his jaw, move up to cup his face and make him look at him properly. Only now he really, clearly looks at him and sees something that makes his heart jostle and jump with joy. It’s not just the rosy cheeks and the soft smile reserved for only him, it’s his overall demeanor that makes his knees grow weak. Felix looks a bit older than he does remember, but also a bit fuller in the face, not as gaunt and tired as he used to be. His hair is a bit mussed from where Sylvain nuzzled his head, but it’s far from the mess it had been when he was a mercenary, and his amber eyes sparkle with something akin to fondness, rather than guilt and anger and the desire to find justice by swinging his sword against enemies Sylvain feared would crush him.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want...” replies Felix but averts his gaze and bites his lip. “I left you without a word after you hired me and I’d understand if you had rather found a woman.”

Sylvain thinks he understands, thinks he can relate even that Felix wasn’t ready for these fragile, vulnerable feelings years ago, not with the vicious anger and the crushing guilt about the kingdom and their prince Dimitri burning beneath his skin. He chuckles lightly at the comment though, and dives down for a simple, chaste kiss. He hasn’t thought of a woman, not since Garreg Mach, not since he realized he is in love with Felix and wants to stay with him until the very end. Their lips slide together slowly at first, in an almost shy and tentative manner, but soon they grow more frenzied, their tongues are pushing against each other, their teeth are clashing and biting into chapped lips as low rumbles bubble up from inside them. Neither of them knows who initiated this little game of tag, and Sylvain can’t help the grin that’s tugging on the corners of his mouth.

When Felix breaks away with a huff, both their breaths are heavy, ghosting on each other’s faces and their noses almost touch. Sylvain finds the strength to mutter a laugh and wink, “Just admit that you find me irresistible and want to keep kissing me.”

It leaves Felix unimpressed and he just pinches his nose instead, making Sylvain gasp and pull back a bit before rubbing the sore spot. “My beautiful face! How dare you cause it such malicious harm!”

“You’re causing much worse harm to my sanity.” Felix rolls his eyes but in a way Sylvain knows is fondness. Or rather nothing that means he is truly annoyed with him. Still, he grows a bit more serious.

“When I called for your service all these years ago,” he says, holding him by his shoulders and looking directly into his eyes, even if that means pushing him back a little, “I wanted us to make a new promise.”

Felix looks up at Sylvain with open interest, genuine curiosity even. His expression changes into furrowed eyebrows, rosy-dusted cheeks and averted gazes once again, when Sylvain rolls a strand of Felix’s hair between his fingers. He waits until he looks at him again.

“Live with me.”

_Stay alive with me._

He smiles, confident and bright, as he knows Felix won’t deny him that — he’s sure of it when he hears him swallow hard and sees him close his eyes for a moment before he opens them again and smiles back at him, his blushing much more evident now. It’s not exactly the same smile from when he was a child, open and gentle and so full of happiness; it’s still that of a stoic and war-scarred man, though a bit softer, fonder even.

It takes a few moments before he nods and lets himself be pulled into another kiss, as Sylvain slides his hand into his hair at the side of his head and clings to him as if he would disappear otherwise. But he isn’t planning to. Not with that new promise and the old one still attached to them, binding them together in life and death alike. He’d live with Sylvain, and Sylvain would live with him. And maybe, with the war being over and Fódlan as well as their minds mostly at peace, their old promise wouldn’t have to mean dying in battle side by side protecting each other any longer. Perhaps it could mean leaving with each other after a long time of happiness together, here in a place full of happy memories they have yet to make.


End file.
